Page 112 of Pocket Wife

“Denied.”

Sen’s mouth hardens. “Adjudicator, if this object is later determined to be protected interstellar cultural property, resident-led opening may constitute contamination.”

My gaze cuts to the screen. “It asked for all hands.”

“It responded to a local vote,” Sen says. “That does not prove lawful consent.”

Celia’s voice cuts from the front row. “Everything is local when you stand close enough to the truth.”

I almost smile.

Almost.

Salo addresses the panel. “Vote.”

Alden stands beside the board, procedural slate in hand. “Emergency continuity panel vote to authorize neutral opening of the Resident Refusal Registry under tribunal seal. Lucy Hartwell?”

I take in the people around me.

Nara with her son asleep against her. Celia with her bandaged arm. Jessa with chalk on her sleeve. Darin watching from Lark Hollow. Torren at the cistern, visible only through a dusty field feed, for once not joking.

Rethan stands apart.

Not far. Never far. But on the other side of the procedural line Helix has drawn around him.

His eyes meet mine once.

No guidance.

No answer.

Only trust.

I face Alden. “Yes.”

“Celia Marris?”

“Yes.”

“Nara Venn?”

Nara glances at her son, then at the screen. “Yes.”

“Torren Ashby?”

“Obviously yes,” Torren says, then adds, “Formally yes.”

“Jessa Quinn?”

“Yes.”

“Darin Om?”

Darin’s old face fills the relay window. “Lark Hollow says yes.”

Alden records each vote. “Unanimous panel consent.”

Salo nods. “Preservation Officer Kell, proceed. Passive seal release only. No manual extraction.”